


Be My Lover

by FleetSparrow



Series: Story a Day in May 2020 [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dead Guy - Freeform, F/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: In which a detective makes a bad decision and winds up in the middle of a murder.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Trans Character/Original Trans Character, Trans Masc Detective/Trans Femme Femme Fatale
Series: Story a Day in May 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727173
Kudos: 1





	Be My Lover

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the beginning of something longer, depending on how I feel. I mean, I'll definitely keep writing more, but where/when I'll post more is dependent on how I feel and such.
> 
> Inspired by Alice Cooper.

She struts into the room, but I don’t know her. She’s looking at me like she knows me, though. She’s a cat in a tight dress. I know she’s not carrying anything, not even a handkerchief in the top of her nylons, and those are definitely nylons on her long legs. When you’ve been a woman half your life, you know these things.

She sidles up to the bar and sits next to me, one arm on the bar, her breasts heavy on top of her arm. I openly stare at them. You may think I’m no better than any other dick in this town, and you’re not half wrong. But I know what she’s selling.

I look her in the eye, and she knows what I think of her. More than that, she knows what I want from her. She smiles.

“So you’re Phillip Margaux,” she says. I was right. She does know me. That doesn’t do me any favors.

“And you are?”

“They call me Esmeralda, on account of my eyes.” She does have damn green eyes, and they sure are sparkling like jewels.

“Alright.” I pay my drinks in advance, a little arrangement with the bartender. When I’m in the money, I pay up front. When I’m out, I know I’ve still got a few drinks left.

Right now, I’m out.

I finish my drink, but I don’t offer to buy her anything. She doesn’t ask for one and she doesn’t complain.

We leave the bar together.

I hate showing people where I live—occupational hazard—so I ask her where she’s holed up. She laughs and leads me to the Cecil. It’s a fine hotel, not really what I was expecting. Hell, anything that wasn’t a box on the street would’ve been fine with me. Then again, I had a feeling she could make that box real cozy.

I straighten my tie before we go in, but once we’re in the stairwell, I loosen it again. She’s holding one of my hands to her ample breast, and by the time we reach her floor, I’m wet. I’m also hot as hell; stairs and me, we don’t get along. This is why I send others out to do my legwork.

Thankfully, the night is cool and the window’s open, so the room is, too. She helps me out of my suit jacket, then undoes my tie and first couple of buttons. I’m not a tall man, but she’s tall enough she has to bend over to undo me.

I get her onto the bed, and now we’re on equal footing. I kick off my shoes and climb up after her. I ruck up her skirt and find the tops of her nylons. They’re the new kind that stay up on their own. Damn expensive, too. My hands catch slightly on the fine fabric. I’ll bet she’s never had a callus in her life.

I roll her nylons off those long legs of hers. Dancer, I’d guess, judging from the muscle definition. Could be a runner, I suppose, but with her looks, I wouldn’t bet on it.

My hands are pale against her dark legs, and I’m not that White. Her legs are smooth. I run my hands all the way up, caressing the contours of her calf, her knee, those strong thighs. I hike her dress up more, until she wriggles out of it. I was right. That dress wasn’t hiding anything.

She takes my hands and places them on her bare breasts, giving me a half-lidded smile. I can feel myself dripping. I’ve always liked a dame who knows what she wants. I straddle her, fondling those heavy breasts. It’s like a memory, in a way, but one that came from somebody else. She reaches down and squirms out of her panties. I grind down on her cock, and, oh yeah, I’m ready for it.

She’s now completely undressed while I’m still mostly clothed. That ain’t fair, I figure, so I let her undress me. She rolls me over to take off my pants, but, she leaves my shirt on. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“I like my men looking dignified,” she says, and I can’t argue with that, though it’s hard to have much dignity when your pants are crumpled on a hotel floor. Still, I unbutton my shirt, even if I leave the shirt on. I worked damn hard for this chest.

She runs her long fingers over my scars, her hands just as smooth as I thought they’d be. I slide my hands down her waist. If I was in any way paternal, I’d almost say we’d make damn fine kids together. I’ll have more fun practicing, though.

We roll over again and I’m back on top. There’s a condom in my suit pocket, I remember, but she’s got one out so fast, I don’t even know where it came from. She slips it on, and we fuck for hours.

I make it a rule to not sleep over in unknown hotels with strangers; it’s a good way to wake up to trouble. But I break it one more time and fall asleep in her arms.

I wake to a shot and a splatter of blood.

There’s a man in my bed with a bullet that blew straight through his brain into the wall, and my paramour is on the floor with the smoking gun beside her. The window is still open. I hear screaming from down the hall, and I remember this is a respectable joint.

I’m in the middle of a murder and caught, quite literally, with my pants down.

This is gonna be one hell of a case.


End file.
